Pete Spence


Clouds.

some rounds of wind around
it's 4:30 somewhere
as i watch some clouds getting a bit of sun
the cafes erode the air with the entrails of coffee
the town clock all three faces telling different times
which late do you want!

January lazing about even the shadows are lax
everything seems perfectly vague
if an ant had a tantrum it would be noticed!
now that the wind is relaxed
the air hangs about gathering dust

i'm still watching the sun bake some clouds
nothing panics the day
it would lead us anywhere
and does

one cloud has had too much sun and faints
where's the smelling salts?
rousing a cloud could be stormy
and this might be the perfect day for it!



Residuals.

touches of February out on the horizon
thinking up a fine entrance
while watching January play out the last few days
nearly as mysterious as a hay bail in a field
or am i just exaggerating again?
while everything goes mulching along at a pleasant rate

like the tips of icebergs
residuals are mostly what is seen or heard
almost normal fermenting away under our eyes
totally unavoidable seeping into the future
or for as long as you are watching

one partition leaning on another
the first few days of February
seems to have wandered by incognito
mulching along at a pleasant rate
all nicely wrapped up



More Shadows An Ant And Lunch.

so this is summer throwing shadows under the chair
where an ant walks distracted enough at the casualness of shadows
on the move in a dusty continual manner right out past the edges
of the known presence that just hangs about compounding
its remnants as if it had some charm or wiliness or bluster
just sort of wallows on and on will there ever be a point where
it all adds up a notion maybe we could never have an idea about

i should sweep the build up of leaves or at some point soon
we won't get into the house though maybe i'll wait 'till the ant crosses
a few more shadows as i sit here quietly minding my do nothings
the ant seems to stay between two shadows taking in some sun
like i am doing while the morning eagerly clamors towards lunch
which i'll only get to if i sweep the leaves the shadows of lunch grow
unheeded i'm swept up in it lunch laid out coffee bread and fine jams
nice to know someone in this part of the universe who makes fine jams



Conversation Piece.

nice day for the gnats
the air humming along
i first thought it was an industrial noise
a very excitable dialogue goes on
as if the answer was some way off
skirting the edge of mayhem
by the rancour maybe the original
question is forgotten tipped
out on the other side of mayhem




Pete Spence was born in 1946. He is a poet, visual poet, editor, and filmmaker, and has worked in various jobs to cover the ongoing deficit.

A collection of visual poetry, 5 X Y, has recently been published by Red Fox Press as part of the C'est Mon Dada series.
 
 
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